


Half Empty

by Meganlover123



Category: A Little Island Called Chaos
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol, Angst, Dark!Megan, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Hurt, Megan-centric, Violence, then more hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meganlover123/pseuds/Meganlover123
Summary: When Lynnea cheats on her with Shelby, Megan falls apart and begins a dark spiral into drugs and murder to cope. Optimism, it turns out, was only a cover for previously undisturbed, darker impulses...





	1. Chapter 1

_Two weeks ago…_

A soft hand in the side other face woke Megan up, her eyes blinking open to her room – still dark. Lynnea’s fingers brushed her cheek, a loving smile on her face. Megan smiled. Blushing slightly, she moved her hand to Lynnea’s soft hair, and moved it behind her ear. A smile. As if to say _good morning_ , and _I love you_.

                 “Mm…” Lynnea closed her eyes and leaned into Megan’s hand. “Morning.”

                 “Really dark morning,” Megan said.

                 “Oh yes, it is.”

                The Chinese one moved slightly, shifting so her back was to her girlfriend. Megan felt warmth spread through her as she gratefully spooned up against the ravenette, her lips curling into a smile against Lynnea’s shoulder blade. Everything was sweet, and she’d never been so happy.

 

++++++++++

_Present._

Ice cold.

                Megan felt ice cold. Her arms and legs were frozen and her breathing was halted and somewhere in her head was a tremendous thumping, growing stronger, making her dizzy. She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, over the sounds coming from Shelby’s room.

                Moans and gasps. Sinful, thick noises.

                Noises that stopped up her heart and her breath – made them catch in her throat like a lump of clay. There was no mistaking the noises of her girlfriend. And that would have been bad enough, but she knew the other occupant of the room to be Shelby. Lynnea had imitated to her enough times how Shelby sounded while _in the act_.

                She nearly dropped her schoolbag, but remembered herself just in time. They couldn’t know she’d heard. Her hands tightened on the schoolbag strap and she slung it back over her shaky shoulder, then backed out of the house, to the backyard, and shut the door as quietly as she could.

                Outside, the sun was bright, and the grass of the yard was green and perfect – the perfect picture of mocking domesticity. Megan collapsed against the doormat as she tried to work through this.

                Lynnea had cheated on her. Lynnea _was_ cheating on her. She was—

                With Shelby.

                _Shelby._

                She took a breath to try and collect herself. It didn’t work.

                She stared at the ground a long time, before she dared go back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, really short chapter but there's more coming soon! This plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone and I've been dying to do a character exploration piece on Meggie. Updates when I can!


	2. Chapter 2

Megan had never liked confrontation. Although a writer, whose tool of success was conflict, she hated it herself. The thrill she got from writing an argument was as far as she enjoyed the sensation, and after that, she would rather keep it out of her personal life thank you very much.

                She sat for what felt like a long time on the doormat, schoolbag in her lap, while the sky over the hedges turned from blue to pink to dark grey. The tears had stopped. The ice cold feeling had melted. She thought about her girlfriend, and then winced, wondering if she was still in Shelby’s room. She clutched her schoolbag.

                She knew the best thing to do would be to go inside and confront them, but just the thought was appalling. There would be screaming and tears, probably, and – _fuck_ – they would all still have to live together. So there would be no confrontation. While the emotions swirled around in her chest, while they were painful, they were easier to predict than a household of three trying to deal with emotions. If she kept this to herself, she could sort out her own feelings before she brought them into their household.

                Megan looked at the sky. It was dark. She should go inside.

++++++++++

Lynnea was starting to get worried – it was late, and Megan still wasn’t home. She was by the stove, stirring a pot of noodles, and looking at the clock on the microwave.

                She had been worried, at first, after she and Shelby had finished. They’d carried on for too long – Megan should have been home. But he wasn’t, and the worry subsided. She’d gotten up, and gotten dressed, and started dinner.

                The worry began to bubble up again when Megan didn’t return home. Lynnea frowned and went to retrieve her phone. She was typing out a text when the door opened, and Lynnea started at the unexpected noise. Then, seeing who it was,

                “Oh, you are home,” she said. Megan looked up – her eyes looked dry, as if she’d been crying. “Where were you… are you okay?”

                Megan didn’t answer right away, looking at her for longer than was usual for her, and then she swallowed and said, “Yeah… we, uh, we got our novel chapters back, and the professor didn’t like mine at all—”

                “What?”

                Megan clenched her jaw, like she was annoyed at what Lynnea had said. Then, in a moment, the shadowy look was gone.

                “…yeah, she… didn’t like it. I had to stay after and… it’s whatever.”

                “Oh.” Lynnea didn’t know what to say. “Okay. Um… are you okay?”

                “I’m fine,” Megan said, and crossed the kitchen into her room. Lynnea watched her shut the door behind her and worried. It wasn’t like her. She put the spoon down and the noodles off of the heat, and then she went to her door. She knocked.

                “Megan?” she said, “Are you okay?”

                “Fine,” came Megan’s voice. A moment later, “Are you making dinner?”

                “…yeah. It’s almost—”

                “Pour me a bowl?”

                She did, and Megan came out a few minutes later.

                Lynnea handed her the bowl cautiously, unsure of what her behavior meant. She’d have to talk to Shelby later – Shelby was the best at relationship advice. Which, coincidentally, was how their… _affair_ (Lynnea didn’t like to call it an affair) started. She’d wanted intimacy advice and things just kind of got out of hand. She told herself it was fine, since there was no romantic attachment there – no _love_ , and that’s what mattered anyway.

                 “Hey,” Lynnea said, sitting down on the couch, “Let’s watch Buffy tonight.”

                Megan paused for a moment, and then, looking like she was forcibly composing her features, she sat next to her girlfriend, and pulled Denmark up from the carpet.

                “Okay,” she said, amicably if not a little distantly. “Okay, let’s watch Buffy.”

++++++++++

In the middle of the night, Megan lay awake, while Lynnea slept beside her. It was wrong. She shouldn’t have allowed Lynnea into her bed, not after the betrayal. But Lynnea didn't know, and she couldn't have kicked her out without being suspicious.

It all felt wrong.

Something in her leapt, sparked, like flint on steel, and she pushed it down. It was too hot, too angry. She turned over and looked at Lynnea, sleeping soundly, unaware that she knew, unaware that she was watching and suppressing the clash of the flint and steel.

_Do you understand that we will never be the same again?_

                Megan slept.


	3. Chapter 3

“…and by the end of the play, it becomes clear that man’s fatal flaw is his desire to usurp his father’s power and go to his mother’s bed. Now, upon further reading…”

                Megan looked down at her notes, clenching her hand around the pen ad grinding her teeth with a painfully tight jaw. _Come on, Megan, compartmentalize._

                She looked down again, writing what she could, but her mind kept wandering. Oedipus. Oedipus slept with his mother. Damned his children. Ruined his house… Shelby. Shelby who looked up to Lynnea – like a mother. Shelby who, like Oedipus, wanted to usurp her father.

_Daaaaad – open this jar for me?_

_Sure, Shelby._

                Last night she had seethed at Lynnea, but the flint and steel was striking at Shelby. She squeezed her pen, stabbing it into the paper.

                “Alright,” said the professor, “Next week we will move onto Greek Theatre and masks. Class dismissed.”

                Megan looked up suddenly, seeing from the clock on the wall that it was a full forty minutes later. Class was already over. She shook herself and rose from her seat, putting away her things. As she exited the lecture hall, a voice stopped her.

                “Hey, Megan, right?” Megan turned. A girl from class was approaching her, Megan forced a smile.

                “Yeah, hi. I’m sorry, who are you?”

                “Emma,” said the girl. Emma was a tall girl with shoulder length brunette hair and dark, statemented eyeshadow. “So listen,” she said, “I missed a class last week and I’m sorta hoping you can lend me your notes.”

                It took Megan a second to process and answer – her mind still elsewhere, still on the crime that had been committed in her house.

                “Yeah, I… sure. I’m not sure how readable it’ll be, though.” She dug into her bag while Emma watched her with a raptor-like quality. “Here.”

                Emma squinted at the page. “Yeah, I can’t read shit from this.”

                She said it with an amused smile, but Megan scowled.

                “Jesus, sorry,” Emma said, “was that rude? Look… sorry. What about we meet up sometime and you can just… walk me through it. I’ve kinda been looking for a study buddy anyway.”

                Usually, Megan would have been put-off by someone like Emma, but something about her turbulence was refreshing. She nodded and molded her scowl into a smile – was it a smile? It was more razor that was usual for her smile.

                “You know what, I’m down.”

                “No fucks?” she sounded surprised.

                That was an expression Megan hadn’t heard before – _no fucks_. She kinda liked it.

                “No fucking fucks.”

                “Alright,” said Emma, “so, when are you free? I can—”

                “Tonight?” Megan heard herself say. “You free tonight?”

                She got the sense that Emma was a hard to surprise girl, and took pride in the fact that she seemed to keep surprising her.

                “You sure are a keener aren’t you?” Emma said.

                “You know it.”

                The second-guesser in Megan’s mind pushed a memory to her –

                _I’ll be home right after class_ , Megan had said to Lynnea as she left. Lynnea had looked up, innocent and frustrating in her doe-eyed feigned countenance.

                _Okay,_ Lynnea had said, _see you. I love you._

                Megan didn’t know why she’d made it a priority to press the point of her being home promptly. No, that was a lie – she knew why. She knew about the affair but she was strongly repulsed by the idea of encountering it again. The first time had been enough of a gunshot to the gut.

                So, Lynnea knew she was supposed to be home. She would worry if Megan went to Emma’s. _So what?_ Let her worry. Let her fucking worry.

                “Tonight’s cool,” Emma said, and wrote her address on a piece of paper and held it out. “Stop by when you’re all set.”

                What if Lynnea didn’t worry? Megan hesitated.

                “That okay with you?” Emma said.

                What if Lynnea just spent the free time and empty house with Shelby?

                Well… then fuck ‘em. 

                “Yeah, totally cool,” Megan said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

                  _Or let them fuck each other._


	4. Chapter 4

Emma lived a twenty minute bus ride from campus, in a seedy one-storey house that was fenced with chain-link. There were cans of Smirnoff Ice littered in the front lawn. Megan eyed the cans suspiciously before knocking at the door.

                _Knock, knock, knock._

                She waited. No answer.

                Frowning, she tried again. A pause, then… did he hear…? Yeah, that was muffled shouting. It grew louder and she stepped back, intimidated.

                The door burst open, revealing Emma and a tall, lanky guy in a tight Mother Mother tank top. Megan hated him immediately. He looked at her in surprise, and then Emma gestured to her sharply.

                “See?” she said to the guy, “There was, in fact, someone at the fucking door.” The guy looked a little put-off and Megan stood awkwardly.

                “Fine,” the guy said, “whatever, Em. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

                Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. As the guy crossed the littered yard and disappeared into the dusk, Emma called after him,

                “Sure thing you trashy bastard!” And then he was gone.

                Once the two of them could no longer see Trashy Bastard, (an apt name, Megan thought, for anyone who liked Mother Mother) Emma finally acknowledged Megan as if she were a human being and not a showpiece on the threshold.

                “Hey, you showed,” Emma said. “All things honest, didn’t think you would.” She stepped back and allowed Megan to enter.

                “Why?” Megan said frowning. “I mean, it’s not like studying is a really niche thing.”

                “Oh, you just… don’t seem the type for spontaneity. Prove me wrong, nerd.”

                She couldn’t decide if _nerd_ was an endearment or an insult. Or a challenge? Megan shook off the thought as Emma led her into the kitchen where, surprisingly, their Greek history textbook was open next to a notebook and laptop that were presumably Emma’s.

                She put her bag on the floor and took a seat as Emma did the same, picking up a pen.

                “Okay,” Megan said, “So you just missed last week’s lecture, right?” 

                “Mm-hm,” Emma said. She scrolled through a page on her laptop and then read off the online syllabus, “We did the… _Oresteia_?”

                She pronounced the _ore_ like Oreo and the _ste_ like Steven and to her credit got the _ia_ correct, but Megan regardless laughed at her. It felt… good to laugh, even if it was a mocking laugh. It was a genuine laugh, and Megan hadn’t been able to since Lynnelby.

                “The _Oresteia_ ,” Megan corrected, and Emma scoffed.

                “Yeah, that. The really long play written by the dead guy.”

                “Like we’re studying any plays that aren’t long and written by dead guys?” Megan said, and pulled out her notebook.

                “Shut up and gimme your notes. Read it to me?”  

                Megan ignored the pang in her chest that leapt at the words _read it to me_. Lynnea would say that about their fanfiction, when she asked Megan to read it to her. Thinking about Lynnea hurt, and made her angry. And anger hurt, not like the stab wound of a knife – that was how the betrayal felt – but like the pain of being burned from the inside out.

                She cleared her throat. “Okay so my first note here says—”

                “I’m getting a drink. You want one?”  

                Megan was startled. It was taking a bit to build study-momentum. “Uh, sure. What do you have?”

                “Well, I’m getting a cherry cooler.” She went to the fridge and swung it open, pulling out a tantalizingly chilled can that started sweating the moment it was room-temperature. “You game, nerd?”

                Megan’s first thought was that she didn’t usually have drinks while studying – maybe a palm bay while writing, or wine if she was feeling it. Her second thought was that she didn’t usually drink with people she barely knew. Her third thought – the important thought – was that she hadn’t really come here to study in the first place. She was already confident in the material, and cherry coolers were good (and barely alcoholic), and so, hey, what the hell.

                “You think I haven’t ever had a cooler before?”

                Emma shrugged. “How should I know you don’t live under a rock?”

                “I don’t,” Megan replied. “Pass me one.”

                Emma pulled another deliciously chilled can from the fridge and tossed it at Megan’s head. She yelped, reaching out just in time – in an impressive show of reflexes – to catch it. Once it was in her hand, she cracked it open. The sweet cherry scent greeted her senses.

                “Thanks.”

                “No problem.” Emma took a sip from her can, then finally came to sit at the table. She sipped her cooler, staring at the wall with a faraway look in her eyes.

                “Before we start, I just have a question.”

                Megan sighed quietly, resolving herself to the fact that they probably weren’t going to get to studying for a while.

                “Yeah?”

                “You ever have problems with someone you love?”

                She considered how to answer, because of course the answer was _yes_. She was having problems with her girlfriend right now, but was she supposed to tell that to a stranger? Before she could answer, Emma continued so she didn’t have to—

                “Because, _god_. That guy who walked out – you saw him, right? That guy – I love him. I love him so much, but we can’t stop arguing, and I don’t know what to do.”

                Assaulted suddenly with an emotional unload, Megan stayed silent. _That’s rough, buddy,_ said her inner monologue, but Megan didn’t say that.

                “I’m… sorry?”

                “Yeah,” Emma said, “I’m sorry, too.”

                Megan looked over at her and realized there were tears in her eyes. This was _not_ what she’d signed up for.

                “Are you crying?” Megan asked.

                “I’m just a really emotional drunk,” said Emma. Megan looked down at her own can dubiously.

                “How much have you had? No way you’re drunk off of two sips of that.”

                Emma glared at her, more tears welling up. “Okay… maybe I’ve just been letting this all pile up on me, I don’t know.” And Megan knew how that felt. “I just… look, to be honest, I didn’t invite you over here to study. I invited you over here because… well, I just need someone to talk to.”

                Megan’s first thought was, _I’m not your fucking therapist_ , but she didn’t say that. She watched Emma cry, and that same feeling she’d felt when she first agreed to help Emma study came up again. It was a feeling of intrigue. She liked how open and easy to understand Emma was. She was crying and upset and needed a friend. That made sense.

                “Why did you pick me though?” she asked.

                “Y-you seem like s-someone who’s easy t-to t-talk to,” Emma said, sobbing now.

                On instinct, Megan scooted her chair closer, and put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. It was odd, since she barely knew her, but it felt right. It felt close and comforting, and Megan found that softer part of her that she thought she’d lost track of ever since she found out about Lynnelby.

                “Hey,” she said, “it’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”

                Emma sobbed, and Megan continued to hug her. It felt good to be a comforter – it felt familiar and manageable. Megan took it gladly over the anger – that was powerful and new and almost frightening. So here she sat, relishing in the way a girl cried in her arms, and made _her_ feel safe.

++++++++++

Three hours later, they were both drunk out of their minds.

                “An’ _then_ ,” Megan slurred, “I w…alked in, an’ I heard them f…ucking.”

                Emma gasped. “ _No way_.”

                “ _Yes way_.”

                After demolishing the six pack of cherry coolers Emma had in the fridge while listening to Emma talk about how lonely she was and how the only person she cared about and who (she thought) cared about her was that guy – Trashy Bastard, Emma brought out some harder stuff. Emma had vodka and green apple liquor, and they drank until she stopped crying and Megan was drunk enough to feel like she owed Emma a little of her heartache, too.

                Somehow, they ended up on the couch in Emma’s living room. It wasn’t dissimilar to the couch back at the house – it was messy and lumpy and they were currently sitting atop papers and trash. The room was starting to spin.

                “Your g’rlfr’nd’s a b… _itch_ ,” Emma said, gesturing with the barely-full bottle of liquor.

                “Don’t—” the room lurched, “Don’t say tha’ abou’ ma girl.” Emma raised an eyebrow, and Megan continued. “Sh’s p...retty an’ I love ‘er and sh….e…”

                For a moment she forgot what Lynnea had actually done. Her alcohol-fogged brain searched, and then all together stumbled upon it, and it hit her again, and suddenly, through the alcohol, she was furious.

                 “…she _cheated_.”

                 “Y…eah,” Emma said, “Sh…e did.”

                 “She cheated!” Megan exclaimed, and she was furious and heartbroken. She hadn’t realized how well she’d been pushing down the emotion all day but now she was feeling it, and feeling the buzz of the alcohol, and her head was stuffed.

                Her eyes were hot and wet. Oh no, she was crying again. She screamed, anguished, and then there were hands on her shoulders.

                “Hey… hey…” Emma said, “It’s g’nna be okay. I pr’mise it’s g’nna…”

                She pulled Megan back towards the couch, sitting her down. When had she stood up? They were both swaying, and then Emma, blurring and tilt-y and Megan couldn’t bring her into focus, leaned forward and they were kissing.

                Slowly, the way it took a moment to register how full to fill glasses while drunk, Megan’s mind caught up with what was happening. They were kissing. They were _kissing_ , and Emma’s mouth was warm and sweet and tasted like green apples and desperation, and she was kissing back before the next part of her mind caught up and told her it was wrong.

                Megan pulled away, her mouth wet from the kiss, her eyes wet from the tears. The movement of pulling away was too sudden, and she lost her balance, falling on her back into the lumpy couch cushions.

                “No…” she said, watching the ceiling spin above her, “I can’t.”

                “But…” Emma said, “we’re both so… alone. We…” Megan wasn’t watching her, but she went quiet, and when she started again, she seemed to have come to a realization. “Y’re right. ‘m s…orry. I’m…”

                And then Megan heard a _thump_. She turned her heard to see Emma passed out on the floor. She blinked, to make sure she was really seeing that right, and then moved to try and help her. Something in the back of her mind said _recovery position_ , but she didn’t quite know what that meant.

                Megan moved, and everything moved with her, throwing her off balance. She crashed into the floor, and stayed there, and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Megan is a very trust-able person. When you meet her, or even see her speak or exist, she comes across as a friend, which is why Emma goes to her for help.


End file.
